Diminishing Steam
by SteamPoweredHedgehog
Summary: -December 18, 1942. Day 189 abroad. Unit F3DORA-2391 and Anthony Batoulli, partners since Anthony's birth, are a pair in the hidden world of espionage during World War 2. Their most recent mission is located in frozen Belgium, Germany. Will this go as smoothly as planned? Or will the winter cold get the better of them? (Contains influence of Steam Powered Giraffe)


**_MAN_** has it been a while. I wanted to post something so that I could tell you that "The Intern" is on an unfortunate pause. The flash drive on which and important part of the next chapter is on has gone missing. I cried. D'8 I'll try to rewrite it, because in the past few months the flash drive hasn't turned up.

Anyway, now that you're informed, enjoy this splendid one-shot! I recomend listening to "Jungle Joyride Night" from Sonic Unleashed or Crystalize by Lindsey Stirling.

Diminishing Steam

_-December 18, 1942. Day 189. Objective-_

_Unchanged_

The announcement ran through F3DORA's neural systems like it did every morning. He's told me he doesn't mind it much; it's not like he can sleep in, or sleep at all. I watch his yellow optics flicker on, with his boiler finally up and running. An experimental mix of two energies, that's F3DORA. Steam was revolutionary in the 1800s. Electricity is the main power source now a-days, but the world still finds uses for steam powered contraptions like him. The electrical additions are just upgrades. And then, of course, come the weapons…

"Kssssssht- Unit F3DORA-2391 you are now online. Please state yours and Maintenance Major Anthony Batoulli's location, over.-Kssht" Base's communications sounded from the automaton's speakers. "Location is Belgium, Germany, Miss Lacy." F3DORA answered in his youthful synthesized voice. A chuckle masked by static emits from the radio. He was decades old, yet that recorded fluctuation has never lost it's touch. "Ksssht-Then you may proceed with your mission, Mr. Anthony and F3DORA-2391, over.-Kssht" I sigh. "Wouldn't it be easier to just call him Fedora?" The automaton turned his stainless steel face to me with care. "She's just following orders, Anthony. We all have code names, don't we?" I want to argue with him, but- _'He's got a point…again.' _I thought.

F3DORA quietly breaks out of the wooden crate in which we've both spent the past six hours. Flurries of snow billow around us, the automaton getting his black coat flipped over his head. Steam pours from him in large white clouds. Despite our situation, I chuckle.

"This just won't do!" he cries, forcefully patting down his coat. "I found my manufacturing place in southern California much more suitable." He notices the puffs of steam he's created. "Looks like I'll have to hold it in." I draw closer to my metal companion as we begin our journey to our rendezvous point. "Promise me, if this God-forsaken World War ever ends and we return to Germany- you know, just on a little vacation or what-not, we'll go when it's warm? _Not _snowing?" F3DORA asks. I laugh a second time. "I should be the one asking you that."

The German base was enormous. We were only in the inner circles of the containment yard, and even that was tens of acres. "Stop!" F3DORA urgently whispers, pressing me against a container. Moments later a German guard with his Sturmgewehr gun passes by, oblivious to our presence. When the light from his lantern disappears, only then does F3DORA take his metal hand away from my chest.

"So when we reach the rendezvous point, what do we do then?" I ask. We travel through the maze of crates and containers in silence for a tense stretch of time. "We'll meet with a teletank at the gates of the soldier camp, where they keep all of their men, weapons and- most importantly- information." "Oh, you mean those mini-tank robots?" "Yes."

The high stacks of crates end, exposing snow-covered ground to the search lights posted around the vicinity. We took a narrow way around the illuminated areas, and eventually stopped outside the back of a cargo building. Even in the dark of this small cranny snow still fell. I rub my cold pink nose to quickly warm it up. "Anthony, would you mind recalibrating my steam vents?" F3DORA whispers to me. I feel in the dark until I find his coat and reach under it. From there I pull an icy metal tube from the robot's spinal column. My hands are immediately warmed by the vapor escaping from it. To preserve the warmth I shove my hands roughly into my coat pockets. "That's better. Let's go. We mustn't speak, lest we get caught, the mission be ruined, and our lives thrown into peril." I simply nod.

The automaton kept a firm grip on my hand, almost like would a child, so that we wouldn't get separated in the dark. I could hardly see by the yellow hue glowing from his eyes, but F3DORA had access to his NOD vision device. As we avoid lights and make a second close call with a soldier, I begin to wonder whether this mission would go as smoothly as planned. Teletanks were a production of the Soviet Union, equipped with guns and flamethrowers, after all. True, the Soviets weren't on board with the Germans, but something about them did not ensure my trust.

We arrived at the camp gates a good ten minutes later. A crimson trailer container was the only thing standing between us and the guards with their search lights. I watched them as they stood freezing in the snow, their guns held close. F3DORA motions for me to step back. I do as instructed, but to the point where I could still see what he was doing. Kneeling to the powdered ground, the machination exerts serrated antenna of sorts from his right hand. He pierces the dirt with it, and becomes very still. Nothing moves for a while, but in moments I feel the pulse of energy reverberate from my companion. For a millisecond, I can hear my heartbeat clear as day. All of the lights around us and beyond lose power and switch off with a loud simultaneous _"CHUNK"._

The world was shrouded in darkness, as far as I could tell. I couldn't see a thing. Two hands grip my shoulders from the darkness, almost making me cry out, until I spot two familiar orbs glowing a fiery-yellow. We practically run across the open space when the guards left to fix the lights, swearing in German all the way. I would have rammed right into the clad-iron gates had F3DORA not put his arm out to stop me. He takes hold of my hand and brushes my fingers against the cylinder of a padlock, keeping the gates locked, no doubt. Realizing what I have to do, I reach into my pants pocket and pull out a pick and tension wrench. After finding the cylinder again, I ready my tension wrench and get my numb fingers to work.

After going on a panic-fueled all-out war with the pins, the padlock opens and I immediately rip it off the gates. F3DORA nods to me, opening the gate for me to enter first. When we're both past the gate, he holds his hand out for the padlock. When I hand it to him, he reaches through the iron bars and re-attaches it to it's formal position, as to not arouse suspicion. We wait in another space between buildings, and continue to wait. Temporary relief floods me as the quiet sound of small tank wheels gets nearer. When we finally lay eyes upon the unmanned machine, F3DORA lowers to his knees and lays his steel palms skyward before it. Lo and behold, short strips of film wheeled out of the tank's headpiece. As the tank made it's leave, to my astonishment, F3DORA stuck the film to the roof of his mouth before it reeled _into _him. He froze, and an almost inaudible _'tick, tick, tick'_ sounded from the automaton's cranium. I was prepared to wait.

Unexpectedly, another figure holding a dim red light appeared behind the corner from which the teletank had appeared. I move to attack the stranger, but they exclaim in English, "I'm a friend! Don't attack!" I regain proper footing, still watching the figure with caution. "I am Eddie Chapman, double agent, British Intelligence." he whispers, introducing himself. My brow furrows. "What is the great Eddie Chapman doing here, meeting us? _Using your own name?_" I ask. "It seems you already know why I'm here. I will escort you, Anthony Batoulli, out the camp, from which then Unit F3DORA-2391 will infiltrate this base's archives." he said under his breath. It was too dangerous for him-for us- to get caught now.

"So…You're saying that Anthony won't be accompanying me?" F3DORA questioned. Mr. Chapman nodded. Frustration boiled cold within me. "I can't just leave him! I've come all this way! It's too dangerous!" "That is precisely why I have been ordered to escort you out!" The argument went on in low voices. F3DORA chose now to release the suppressed steam within him. "Listen, Anthony. I've known your father and was there when you were born. I watched you grow up. For you to die here would be irrational. So please, go with Mr. Chapman." _'There he goes, making another point.' _I think. "Please, you _must _come with me." Chapman orders. I hang my head and nod.

**F3DORA's Point Of View (P.O.V.)**

Eddie Chapman was gone, as was Anthony. Without the double agent's red, discrete light, the NOD vision device was essential. I gaze up to the high pedestals poking up above the camp gates, on which a certain few short-circuited search lights were flickering back on.

I had to move quickly.

With the map I had memory-scanned from the delivered film, I navigated through tents and buildings as quickly as possible. I turn down one of several corners, much like others I've turned, but freeze mid-stride as I notice a camera. A simple-function prototype video camera. I happen to come across many of those in the past year. Careful to stay out of its line of sight, I inch my way from one building to another. Now I stand just beneath the mechanism. Perfect.

When it came to speech, the mechanical tongue that lay within my mouth was useless. It served absolutely no purpose in forming words; a speaker did all the work. I tilt my head skyward, lower my jaw, and angle said tongue to line up with a connective wire protruding from the inclined neck of the camera. Releasing the loaded spring, a miniature grappling hook shot from my mouth and wrapped tightly around the wire. I reached up and grab the black twine sticking out from my lips with my artificial thumb and index finger. The wire snaps with one quick jerk of my hand. _'Now that that's taken care of...' _I think.

More lights have regained their power, meaning my cover of shadows was jeopardized. Approaching the correct building, I acquire my own picking tools, identical to Anthony's. Within moments, the front entrance is open. I silently enter the premises, closing and locking the door behind me. In the darkness, I see two soldiers pointing their Sturmgewehr rifles directly at my mid-section. With slow, calculated movements, I hide my hands behind my back. My frontal area was not my point of concern. If my delicate phalanges were to be damaged, there was nothing I could do to repair such intricate functions here. I'd be scrap.

Fools. They expected to be able to hold the fort in total darkness? They'd go blind first. A valve opened on my chest cavity, and soon I was spewing dark mustard gas from my jowls. The two men choked on the contaminated air, trying to shout that they couldn't breathe. Such a shame. I was built to aid, not kill.

The Archives. The one room containing all of this Operation's plans and history resembled more of a small lobby, or lounge room. The desk which stood among file cabinets filled with information was paired with a leather patented chair, useful for long sittings, I suppose. Helping myself to the seat, I grab the first handful of papers that seem of most importance. "British and German troops fight over territory in Libya, December 18, 1942. That was today." I simulate a chuckle of sorts.

I spent another half hour scanning and recording as much information as my storage space can hold. When I can no longer continue, I return all articles to their correct file and order, taking precautions to leave no trace of my presence, besides the two soldiers dead in the hall. No matter. I follow the mental map to an employee exit, which I unlock with ease. I am greeted with a smorgasbord of vehicles. The helicopter would be the most efficient choice, but too loud and obvious. I settle with a motorcycle that would best carry my weight, and make it a high prerogative to leave immediately.

"Not long now, Anthony. I'm on my way."


End file.
